


Cursed

by TheIttyBitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cursed Castiel, Curses, Fate, Fluff, Free Will, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guard Dean, Learning to Fight, M/M, Nicknames, Prince Castiel, Quests, Royalty, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIttyBitty/pseuds/TheIttyBitty
Summary: There's curses, and then there'scurses, and Prince Castiel cannot abide his any longer.Aided by a loyal guard, Castiel will set out to change his fate.





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story is fantasy. It's vaguely medieval-ish, but i'm not bothering with all the polished language. As always, this is in no way historically accurate and someone will probably get called _dude_ at some point. 
> 
> The story is written in it's entirety, I just need to edit each chapter before posting. The plan is to post a chapter a day for four days.

“Dean.”

The guard snaps to attention. “Your Grace?”

“Come here.”

Dean approaches the table warily, unaccustomed to being addressed by the youngest prince. But it’s just the two of them in the large dining room this evening, everyone else is running late or has other business, and Castiel is urging him forward.

“I think you should taste this for me.” He gestures to frosted lemon cake in front of him, “It might have been poisoned.”

Dean looks around for the royal food taster, but finds no one. Castiel, the youngest of seven siblings, doesn’t warrant the caution the others do. 

“I-” Dean stops and swallows, “You think it’s poisoned?”

Castiel shrugs, “How will I know until you taste it?”

Dean is still hesitant, but he dutifully takes the fork offered to him and tries a small taste of the cake. Castiel watches the worry melt away, replaced by amazement at the taste on his tongue. He chews slowly, swallows carefully.

He says, “It’s good. I don’t think it’s poisoned.”

“Hmm,” Says Castiel, “Try some of the wine.”

And so it goes. The wine, the roast, the carrots, more of the wine.  _ Oh, it might have been poisoned, just try a little more _ . Castiel plies Dean with food and wine until he’s looking sated and tipsy and he wishes- god, he wishes-

A throat clears behind him.

Dean straightens to attention again, eyes fearfully wide, staring at someone behind Castiel’s back. 

Well, not  _ someone _ , Castiel knows who it is.

“Micheal.” 

“Castiel,” Says his oldest brother, stepping further into the room. To Dean, he says, “You’re dismissed for the night.”

Dean jumps hurriedly to his feet and eagerly out the door while Micheal rounds the table into Castiel’s eye-line.

Castiel asks, “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“I was-”

“I know what you were doing.” Micheal interrupts, “And I think you know what I’m going to say about it.”

“I just-”

“You can’t have that. I know you want it, but you just can’t. You can’t have that kind of relationship with  _ anyone _ . You know the rules. Letting yourself be tempted-”

“I know!” The youngest prince snaps, “I know, alright! I know the  _ damned  _ rules. I just wanted- wanted to  _ pretend _ , just for a moment, that I could. Is that so horrible? Am I not allowed even that?”

Micheal’s expression softens. He’s not a bad brother, only overworked and over stressed. Only too protective. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I wish you could have this.”

Castiel shakes his head, swallowing back the tears that climb up his throat. “And yet, all of the rest of you carry on as usual. Everyone else gets someone to love.”

Micheal runs a hand through his hair, sighing, “What do you want me to do, Castiel? I can’t  _ un _ curse you. Only the witch can do that, and no one has seen her since your birth. There’s nothing to be done.”

Castiel doesn’t respond. He’s not sure he can without bursting into tears. He stays silent until his brother grows weary and leaves, and Castiel is all alone again.

The curse is age-old, placed onto him as a baby. Never a moment out of its watchful gaze. He can’t be kissed, lest he and the other party both drop dead. Of course, the royal family had quickly decided that this meant no romance at all. Because what if he or his beloved forgot, even for a moment, and shared that deathly touch?

So he stays kept mostly away, away from everyone and everything interesting, and it’s drowning him. 

He knows. He  _ knows  _ that it’s drowning him, stifling every bit of him worth having, and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it.

And now there’s Dean, a new guard; just his age, beautiful as a rose, always humming under his breath, with a smile that makes time stop. 

It’s unfair, in a way. It makes Castiel want to break mirrors, to scream and cry and rage at the unfairness of all of it. On the other hand, he feels a fire in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

Nothing to be done, huh? Well, there’s always something to be done. Find the witch and break the curse, how hard can it really be?

 

Castiel is not known for his hesitancy, thinking things all the way through, or keeping his mouth shut. He’s not known for a lot, in fact, and this is mainly a by-product of having seven older siblings all stronger, braver, smarter and bolder than he is. It’s a fact that has weighed on him for years now, no matter what he does, one of his siblings has already done it  _ more _ . They’ve done it  _ bolder  _ or  _ better  _ or  _ with more flair _ . 

He dwells on this as he paces his room, kicking at walls and bedposts in his frustration. Everyone has more important things to do than search for the witch who cursed him. No matter what he feels, the fact that he can’t be kissed will never be more important than the kingdom, wars, famines, bandits. There will always be something more important to his parents and siblings, and meanwhile Castiel is only getting older and lonelier. Soon his eighteenth birthday will come and go and nothing will really change.

Castiel huffs, chewing his bottom lip and striding to the window. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“I can do something.” He says aloud.

The hairs on his arms stand up. He can do something. 

But can he? Can he  _ really _ ? Is he really capable of doing the thing he’s thinking of? There’s a moment when he almost slumps onto his bed in defeat, but he pulls himself back up. 

And here,  _ here _ is the thing that Castiel  _ is  _ good at, the flighty, reckless thing that never fails to get him into trouble: he decides to do it anyway. He puts his fears out of his mind and, once determined, begins to move before he can think of all the horrible things that might happen. 

He grabs his knapsack from his closet and begins to shove clothes in, shoes, books.

There’s a knock at the door.

Castiel freezes, caught in the act. His heart hammers in his chest so loudly that he’s sure whoever is at the door must be able to hear it. He shoves the knapsack into the corner of the room, pats his hair, and does his best to catch his breath. 

Unfortunately, the figure on the other side of the door doesn’t slow his racing heartbeat.

“Dean.” Castiel says.

“Your Grace. I wanted to- are you alright?” He eyes Castiel’s disheveled appearance. 

“What? Yes, oh, yes. Just, um, doing push-ups.” Castiel winces at the obvious lie.

“...Push-ups?”

“Push-ups. Working on my, um, upper body strength. Did you want something?”

“Oh, yes,” Dean clears his throat and straightens up, “I wanted to apologize for my conduct earlier- are you going somewhere?” His eyes have caught on the knapsack in the corner, and Castiel moves quickly to block his eye-line.

“No.”

Dean leans to look around him, “Then why are you packing a bag?”

Castiel says, “None of your business!”

Dean narrows his eyes, “You’re leaving.”

“No, i’m not.”

“You’re running away.”

“That is a wild accusation.”

Dean insists, “I know what running away looks like, and it looks like  _ that _ .”

“Excuse me, I am your  _ prince _ .”

Dean frowns, “And I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

“Who says?”

“The  _ king _ .”

Castiel draws in a long breath. “Well. Have fun with that.”

He shuts the door in Dean’s face.

The expected knock doesn’t come from the other side, and after a moment Castiel thinks that Dean has probably run off to inform someone of his plans. He stuffs the rest of his things into his knapsack, dons his plainest cloak, and strides to the door.

“Motherfucker!” He yelps.

Dean raises his eyebrows. Arms crossed over his chest, he looks like an authority.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Well I thought it was kind of a fifty-fifty chance you’d either take the door or the window and I didn’t want to run all the way around the building.”

“Aren’t you going to tell someone?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No!”

Dean shrugs, “I thought I might be able to talk you out of it.”

“Well, you can’t. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Where are you even going?”

“I’m going on a quest, if you must know.”

“A quest?”

“A quest.”

“Alone? In the middle of the night?”

Castiel stares at him. 

“Well, I can’t let you go. You know that, right?”

“I’m your prince!” Castiel insists again, “You can’t stop me.”

Dean purses his lips, huffs, puts his hands on his hips. “Well. Then. I’m going with you.”

Castiel says, “You’re  _ what _ ?”

“I’m going with you, to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Castiel fumes, “Why you-”

“Is that all you’re taking? How long are you planning on being gone?”

“Indefinitely.” 

Dean blinks, and his expression grows hesitant. He’s re-thinking his decision to accompany his prince, and the process shows on his face. “Aren’t you planning on coming back?”

“Once the quest is finished, I just don’t know how long that’ll be.”

“What kind of quest is it?”

“It’s… curse removal.”

Dean looks at him again, as if he’s never done it hard enough before. “You’re cursed?”

“Yes. And I’m sick and tired of it.”

He can hear the desperation in his own voice, the weariness, and Dean must hear it too because he only hesitates for a moment longer and then says, “Well, we’re gonna need more provisions than this.”

 

More provisions involves stealing, which Castiel has some moral objections to, but if he’s already running away to change his fate then, well, why not?

Money is easy enough, he sneaks into Micheal’s room and takes enough to get by, but it’s still so trifling that he doubts his brother will even notice. 

Weapons aren’t difficult either, a dagger and a bow and arrow filched from the guardhouse.

The kitchen is where it really gets dicey. There’s always someone in there, cooking and singing and flinging flour. They have to sneak in through the back and steal loaves of bread and hunks of dried meat off of the racks.

Dean sneaks into the guard barracks to get his few possessions, and then… they’re done. There’s no more reason to stall, nothing else they need. Faced with this sudden realization, Castiel has a moment of crisis.

“I can’t come back unless i’m uncursed.” He tells Dean, tucked beside him in a shadowy alcove, “This is it.”

“You can go back to your room. Go to sleep, stay here.”

Castiel snaps, “No! I’m going!”

And with that, his resolve is strengthened again. “So, I was thinking we could go out the back and through the garden, and if we’re careful we could scale the outside wall and repel down the other side.

“Repel- what? You didn’t think this through at all, did you?”

Castiel sniffs, “Of course I did!”

“Okay, well, counter offer: we just walk out the front gate.”

“We can’t do that! Can we?”

“I think we can.”

They regard each other for a moment, Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

Castiel says, “I think you’re going to be good to have around.”

 

Twilight creeps over the town, illuminating the castle and the town surrounding it. Lamplight spills into the streets from pub doorways and brothel windows. The town is abustle. 

Castiel has never seen it this way before in all his seventeen years.

“Close your mouth.” Dean tells him quietly, “Or people will know you’ve never been into town.”

“I’ve been into town!” Castiel snaps, “Just… not very much. And not at night. And, by the way, castle security is  _ extremely  _ lax. We barely had to sneak to get out.”

“I think they’re usually trying to keep people out, not in.”

“Well they’re  _ supposed  _ to keep me in.”

“Are they?” Dean gives him a long look from under his hood, “What kind of curse do you have, anyway?”

Castiel says, “A personal one.”

Dean shrugs and carries on down the street, Castiel trailing close behind. 

“I only want to know if it’s dangerous,” He says, once they pass a crowd.

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, closes it, and opens it again. “Not to you.” He says finally. He’s in charge of himself, he’s not going to just up and kiss Dean, and he doubts Dean is going to try and kiss him. 

“Alright then.” 

The edge of the city is in sight, the place where cobblestone turns to dirt and the giant archway in the city wall feeds people out into the dark beyond. Castiel has been beyond it, but never on his own two feet, his own will and his own steam. His steps quicken as they near the gate.

“Hey, hey, cool it.” Dean says, a hand on the inside of Castiel’s elbow, “If you’re running, they’ll get suspicious.”

“I wasn’t  _ running _ .”

“Just  _ be cool _ .”

But he can’t be cool, not with the guards staked out under the arch, not with Dean’s hand on his arm. His heart pumps a vivace beat that has his blood thrumming, his hands shaking. 

He pulls his hood down further as they fall into a group of half-drunk party-goers, ready to go the rest of the way into the drink in the quiet countryside. Their noisiness is distracting, and the two sober stowaways slip by unnoticed. 

On the other side of the gate the party-goers scatter, but Castiel and Dean stay on the road that winds down into the hills. 

“Your Grace,” Dean says, formal again now that danger is passed, “You’re shaking.”

“I was afraid.” Castiel admits, “And you may call me by my name.”

Dean says, “Ah. I don’t think-”

“Am I your prince or not?”

“...yes.”

“Then do as I say.”

This earns him a sideways glare from Dean, who says, “Yes, my prince.”

“You’re doing that just to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, my prince.”

 

The next nearest town is several miles to the east, through lovely hills and mild fields, and Castiel is enjoying himself no small amount. The night air has a cold bite to it, nipping at his fingertips and nose. The breeze carries the scent of flowers, of green oak, of briskly flowing streams. The adrenaline from escaping town has worn off, leaving him tired and shaky, but now his spirits begin to slowly lift again. He feels renewed, the journey has begun! He’s on the road that will set him free. 

A laugh bubbles in his throat. He opens his mouth and lets it spill into the world. 

Dean says, “What?”

“We did it!”

Dean looks back at the town behind them, and the castle behind that. Lamplight spills out of the gate and onto to the road. 

He says, “I guess we did.”

They walk a few more minutes with only their footsteps sounding in the dark before Castiel speaks again,

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course, my prince.” There’s a beat, and then, “Didn’t seem like you were all that keen on it, at first.”

“I…” Castiel isn’t sure what to tell him, really. That it had been a spur of the moment decision? That he didn’t- doesn’t, want to drag anyone down with him if this doesn’t work out? “I prefer my own company.” 

“Well, maybe you’ll enjoy mine as well.”

“Maybe.” Says Castiel, breathing deep to try and dislodge the butterflies in his sternum.

“Can I ask- do you have a plan? Or are we just wandering the countryside for the fun of it?”

“I have… part of a plan.”

“Which is?”

“I want to see the psychic at Ichborough.”

“A  _ psychic _ ? That’s your plan?”

“Do you have a better one?”

Dean frowns. “I suppose not.”

“We’d better hurry.”

 

By the time they reach Ichborough, Castiel’s feet and calves are burning, he’s out of breath, and perspiration is dripping down his face despite the cool air. Dean, on the other hand, looks like he’s just been out for a leisurely stroll.

The town doesn’t have a wall, or guards, but Castiel mops the sweat with the sleeve of his cloak as they draw near.

“How do you even know there’s a psychic here?” Dean asks.

“My sister told me. She comes here to get her future told because our father doesn’t approve of it.”

“Because it’s hogwash.”

“It’s not hogwash!”

Dean kicks at a rock on the road, “It’s just nonsense. They tell you what you want to hear, that’s all.”

Castiel looks at him as the town lights get nearer. His face is set in a frown, firm and unmovable.

“Why don’t you believe in it?”

“I just think it’s silly. No one can know your future.”

“But you believe i’m cursed?”

“Well, yeah. That’s different.”

“How?”

Dean huffs, tugging his hood down a little further as the road turns smoother and more travelers begin to pass. “A curse is something that happens to you. It has specific parameters and rules. Divination is… digging around in time, and I don’t think you can do that. I don’t think the future is set, and I don’t think anyone can tell you your fate.”

This, Castiel decides, he admires. He disagrees, but he admires the belief that you’re the only one that can determine your future. It’s the kind of belief he wishes he held himself, instead of being tossed along through life by whomever wants to curse him, whomever wants to keep him locked up for his own safety, whomever wants to decide his fate. He nods at Dean, and they share a smile between them, of camaraderie. 

Castiel’s head spins as he realizes, quite suddenly, that Dean could become a friend.

Madame Meg’s is tucked in next to a pub, and all the lights inside are out. Yet, when Castiel raises his hand to knock, the door swings open before he can make contact.

“Hello.” Says a woman, small and dark haired, with pupils like snakes’ and a shark smile.

Castiel straightens up, he takes a breath, “Good evening. We were hoping to engage your services, if it’s not too late.”

“You have money?”

Castiel’s hand goes to his belt where his money pouch is still secure. “Yes.”

“Well, it’s never too late for money.”

She opens the door further and gestures them into the dark interior of the house. The air is thick with herbs and smoke and Castiel has to fight not to sneeze.

He says, “You knew we were coming.”

She shrugs, “I thought someone might.”

“You see?” Dean interjects, “It’s just guesswork.”

Meg ignores him. She leads them into a small parlor and lights several lamps around the room. “So, what are you wanting to know?” She asks.

Castiel says, “I’m looking for someone. I don’t- don’t know her name. I don’t know anything about her, but I need to find her. Can you help me?”

“True love?”

“No.” 

She squints at him, “Hmm. Well, I can scry for this person, if you really want. But I need to know  _ something  _ about her. Something solid.”

“I know… I know she’s a witch. I know that seventeen years, two months and five days ago she was at the castle in Carroway.”

Meg looks at him harder. “Hmm.” She says again, “We’ll see.”

From a high shelf she takes a large obsidian bowl and sets in on the doily covered table that takes up much of the small room. She leaves for a moment and comes back with a pitcher of dark wine, which goes into the bowl without flourish. 

“Sit, sit.” She says, waving her arm.

Castiel and Dean stand in the doorway for several more moments before jumping to comply. They perch on twin stools across the table, too small and uncomfortable, while Meg stretches her arms above her head.

Dean says, “So-”

“No no. I need quiet for this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “But-”

“What did I just say? 

Dean scowls, but stays quiet as she braces herself agianst the table and gazes into the bowl’s inky depths.  She breathes deep, and then goes very very still.

Dean huffs. “‘S bullshit.” He mutters under his breath.

“Shh.”

“Not gonna work.”

“Shush!”

“She’s just screwing with us!” Dean hisses.

“Shut it!” Castiel slaps at Dean’s arm, “Shut it or leave!”

Dean growls unhappily but crosses his arms over his chest and sits quietly for the next five minutes while she scrys. 

The room is dark, the lamps cast long shadows over the plush carpet and bookshelves laden with books and bones. A deck of gilted cards and a chunk of uncut amethyst sit conspiring together on a side table. 

Meg comes out of her trance with a snap, blinking her eyes and cracking her neck like she’s just woken up from a long nap. 

“Money first.” She says, holding out her hand, palm up.

Castiel fumbles for his pouch and spills coins into her open hand where she inspects it thoroughly before deciding that it’s legitimate.

“The woman you’re looking for lives in the village of Ire.” Says Meg, “To the south.”

Something loosens in Castiel’s chest, a relief that spreads throughout him until he’s tingling all over. 

“Thank you.” He says, “Thank you, so-”

“Yes, well, tell your friends.” She waves her hands, sleeves flapping wildly, “Now, if you don’t mind, I have other business to attend to.”

“That’s it?” Says Dean.

When they’re once again out in the lamp-lit street, he says it agian.

“What, that’s it?”

“What were you expecting, exaclty?”

“I mean- more than that! How much did you pay, just to have some hack point you in another direction?”

Castiel turns to him in the halflight, taking in his sour mouth and scrunched brows, “What happened to you addressing me formally?”

Dean’s back straightens, his eyes widen, his mouth opens in surprise. Castiel almost laughs aloud at his sudden change in demeanor.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” Dean says, a tell-tale flush creeping up his neck, “I shouldn’t have questioned you.”

“I’m  _ joking _ .” Says Castiel, “But seriously, will you lighten up a little bit?”

Dean blinks, he sputters, his face goes from confused to frustrated and back to confused in a matter of moments. 

“You’re trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?”

“We have our first clue! This is  _ good _ . We know where the witch lives, we just go there and get her to lift the curse. Easy.”

“Oh,  _ easy _ ?”

“Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What if ‘ _ Madame Meg’ _ is sending us on a wild goose chase? What if the information is wrong?”

“Why would she lie to us?”

“Oh, I don’t know, for  _ money _ maybe?”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“I trust plenty of people, my prince. I don’t trust  _ psychics _ .”

Castiel takes a deep breath of the cool night air. He puts his hands on his hips. He says, “Are you coming with me or not?”

Dean throws his hands into the air. He says, “Obviously i’m coming with you!”


	2. The Lakeside Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went ahead and posted another chapter because i'm an idiot! we'll see what happens tomorrow.

Castiel has never been camping before, but he surmises that if his siblings can do it, so can he. The night air has a chill, but not enough to freeze him. The bright moon casts enough light to see by even out of the town, and lightning bugs blink cheerfully out over the fields. How hard can camping really be?

“The bugs-” Castiel slaps at his arm to displace a mosquito, “The bugs are  _ biting me _ , Dean.”

Dean, from his place kneeling next to a small pile of sticks and kindling, sighs longsufferingly. “Yeah, that’s kinda their thing. Just give me a minute, the fire should help a little.”

“Can I get diseases from this?” Castiel eyes several bug bites with distaste, “Am I going to get leprosy?”

“You don’t get leprosy from mosquitoes.”

“Oh really? And you know, do you? Well then how do you get leprosy?”

“I don’t know! Not from mosquitoes!”

“Well, since apparently you’re the  _ expert _ -”

“Shut up!” Dean snaps, pressing a hand to his forehead, “Will you just shut up for a minute, please?”

It surprises Castiel, the sting of hurt that comes with those words. The sharp pain followed by a hot lance of anger. 

“Fine.” He says tightly, getting to his feet. He turns on his heel and stalks off through the trees, feeling the intense need to be anywhere that Dean is not. 

It’s an unusual feeling, and he hears a muffled, “ _ fuck _ ” from near the fire, but he’s horribly near tears already and needs to get away. He doesn’t go far, only just out of sight. He needs room to think, to breathe, to secretly wish that he was back home in his bed.

It’s not long before he hears the crunch of boots on leaves behind him, and Dean comes to stand beside him and stare into the trees.

Dean says, “I got the fire going.” And then, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Castiel shakes his head, feeling very suddenly not angry at all, but an older, darker, and more familiar emotion. It’s born from a long hurt buried deep in his heart, feeling like a physical wound in his chest.

“It’s okay.” He says weakly, “I know i’m… frustrating.”

Dean looks at him, and Castiel looks away. 

“You’re not frustrating.”

“Ha.”

“Really. Who told you that?”

“Who  _ hasn’t _ ?” Castiel counters.

“I never thought you were.”

“Well, that was before you’d spent much time with me, wasn’t it?”

With a jolt of surprise, Castiel feels a hand on his back. Large, strong, fingers splayed. He stays still, fighting the urge to melt into the touch. 

Dean says, “Its been a long day. I’m on edge, and you- you’re afraid, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel.” Castiel snaps, but there’s a grounding weight on his back, and it compels him… “What if i’m wrong?”

Beside him, Dean says nothing.

“What if we go to Ire and she’s not there? What if she’s there and she won’t help me? What if nothing changes and I have to stay like this forever?”

Dean’s hand moves in a small circle on Castiel’s back, a surprisingly gentle gesture that has Castiel feeling like he’s going to start crying all over again.

“We’ll get rid of your curse.” Dean promises, “I swear it. I’m with you.”

Castiel takes a breath, and another. He says, “Okay.”

 

At their small campsite, the fire is burning happily. True to Dean’s word, most of the bugs have dispersed. Castiel sits down with a huff, rubbing the smoke from his eyes and trying not to think about the dirt getting on his pants. He lets his eyes slip closed, the sounds of the fire crackling and Dean rifling through their packs lulling him into a state of almost-sleep.

“Here.” Dean thrusts a chunk of bread and an equal-sized chunk of jerky into his hands. 

“Ah, dinner.” Castiel frowns at the food. This was his own decision, he reminds himself, but he can’t help imagining what he had to eat only hours ago at home. 

“Go on.” Says Dean, “You’ll feel better.”

The bread is hard and so is the meat, and salty as well. He makes a face and Dean is quick to share his own waterskin. Their fingers brush over the leather, and Castiel suppresses a shiver at the warmth of his skin. When he takes a swig of the water, he imagines he can taste Dean’s mouth on the edge. He can’t look Dean in the face when he hands it back.

When they’ve eaten, Dean ties their packs up in the branches of a nearby tree and douses the fire thoroughly with water from a nearby stream.

“How are we supposed to stay warm?” Castiel asks as the darkness closes in around them.

“Here,” Dean unrolls a long bit of fabric, closed on the sides and one end, “We sleep in this.”

“ _ Together _ ?”

Dean shakes out the fabric, “It’s warmer that way.”

“Looks a little small.”

“It’s made for warmth, not comfort.”

“It can’t be both?”

Dean gives him a look, laying the fabric out a ways from the remains of their smoldering fire. He sits down at the top and begins to scoot inside.

“You’re getting in  _ with your boots on _ ?”

“Well, yeah.” Says Dean.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“Safer. You don’t want something crawling in your boots when they’re off, and this way you’re ready to go in a hurry if something happens during the night.”

“There is no way i’m sleeping with my shoes on.” Castiel says.

“Suit yourself.” Says Dean.

It takes no small amount of maneuvering to get into the sleeping bag with Dean. Castiel knees Dean in the stomach three separate times and elbows him in the chest once, and once he’s in, laying on his back, they’re pressed so close together that Castiel can feel Dean from his shoulders to his toes. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but Castiel has not shared sleeping arrangements since he was very small, and never in his life has he been so close to someone he’s physically attracted to. 

It’s practically painful, being so close. His heart is hammering, and his breath must be coming too fast, too loud. Dean must be able to feel the way he’s gritting his teeth, the way his fingers are twitching. Worst of all, beside him, the object of his affection is perfectly calm. His breath is even, his body relaxed. Meanwhile Castiel wants to scream over the fact that this is the closest he’s been to another person in years. 

No one touches him at home, no one comes too close. No one hugs, or holds hands, or ruffles each others’ hair, and Castiel has never realized the absence of physical touch as starkly as he does now. He feels electrified, burning, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He has no idea how to deal with feeling this way, with craving a hug so intensely, with wanting to curl up into Dean’s side more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

Dean says, “You’re fidgeting.”

Castiel stills his wiggling foot, “No I’m not.”

“We’re perfectly safe.”

“It’s not that.” Says Castiel, “I’m not used to sleeping without a pillow.”

Dean sighs, wriggles, and pulls one arm from the confines of the sleeping bag. “Head up.” He says, and tucks his arm beneath Castiel’s neck.

“Oh.” Says Castiel.

“My arm was getting cramped anyway.” Says Dean.

There’s a moment, a long moment, when Castiel reminds himself that he and Dean don’t really know each other very well. Where he reminds himself that he’s a prince and that Dean is a guard. Dean is helpful and friendly, and that’s all that this is.

That said, having the warmth of Dean’s arm under his head is intoxicating. The smell of Dean, thyme and mint and sweat, threatens to consume him. 

Then, finally, he focuses his attention up. Up past the treetops, past the clouds, to the glittering sky.

“Whoa.” He breathes. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I never knew there were so many stars.”

“Can’t see ‘em from the city.”

“They’re amazing.”

Looking up at the stars, Castiel forgets his nerves. He forgets his fear. He’s still aware of Dean’s heat at his side, but he’s mesmerized by the display above. His pulse calms. Staring at the vast and unknowable sky, Castiel feels alight.

 

Against all explanation, Castiel is warm. There is warmth beneath him and above him and all around him. The sweet smell of mint wafts through his senses, and a steady  _ blub _ beats beneath his cheek. 

The heat beneath him shifts, “Prince. Prince. Castiel.”

“Hmm.”

“You gotta- can you get up? I gotta pee.”

Castiel groans and rolls to the side, groaning, “But now i’m cold.”

“Gotta get up anyway.” Dean says, squirming his way out of the sleeping bag, “Time to start the day.”

Castiel cracks one eye open, and makes a disgusted noise at what he sees. “It’s not even light out yet.”

“Gotta start early. You want to get un-cursed or not?”

“No.” Castiel groans miserably. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

“You’re dead to me.” Says Castiel, 

For breakfast they have meat and bread again, Castiel’s mouth set in a permanent frown while he chews. Once again, Dean shares his water.

“You gotta get used to it.” Dean tells him.

Castiel says, “No thanks.”

“Well, that’s what we’re going to be eating for a while.”

“It’s going to give me nightmares.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind the gesture. He gestures, an obvious  _ shut up and eat _ , and the two of them fall into an easy silence. In fact, the whole morning is easier than yesterday in many ways. Dean and Castiel walk in a much more companionable silence than before, and when they do talk it comes easier. Castiel’s legs burn and throb, and his feet ache more than they ever have in his life, but at the very least he has someone to talk to that he’s quickly coming to consider a friend.

 

The road through the trees winds out before them, covered in sticks and rocks and, occasionally, small animals. Birds sing among the trees and dappled sunlight filters down through the branches. If Castiel uses his imagination just a little he can imagine that this is simply a stroll through the woods with a lover. Perhaps there’s a picnic waiting at the end of the journey, a blanket to lay out on and eat and kiss. 

“You alright?” Says Dean.

“Hmm?”

“You’re all red.”

“Oh, ah, just warm I guess.”

“You want to take a break?”

“Yeah, I think i’m getting blisters on my feet.”

Dean looks down at Castiel’s shoes and frowns, “You need better shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, they’re fancy enough, but they’re already wearing out. Not ideal for a lot of walking.”

Castiel glares down at his toes, at his expensive, good-for-nothing shoes. They look nice, with their embroidered fabric and silver laces, but a glance at Dean’s footwear and its obvious who’s is superior. 

“Where do I get shoes like yours?”

“No shoes like these, they’re one of a kind.” He side-eyes Castiel, “But we can probably find you some better ones the next town we see.”

“What else?” Castiel wonders.

“What?”

“What else should I change?”

“Look, i’m not telling you to change-”

“What would be better, then. I know you have opinions on it.”

Dean smiles and shakes his head, takes a breath, and looks thoughtful for a moment. “Promise you’re not going to get mad?”

“Eh.”

“Your pants look like they were designed more for the look than comfort. Same with your shirt, it’s too thin, I bet you’re freezing right now.”

He’s not wrong. Castiel has been shaking with cold for the last half-hour, and the fabric of his pants is some sort of scratchy hell-blend that’s making his thighs chafe horribly. 

He says as much to Dean, who tips back his head and laughs, “You’d think a prince, of all people, who have well-made clothes.”

“I’m not supposed to leave the castle, what would I need sturdy clothes for?”

Dean wrinkles his nose, “Are you going to tell me what your curse is?”

“No.”

“Is it something embarrassing?”

“Kind of.” Castiel admits.

“Okay. Sorry. I, uh, I promise I won’t judge though, if you do want to talk about it.”

“Thanks.”

“So…”

“Maybe i’ll tell you sometime.”

 

Toldaveld is larger than Ichborough, with towering buildings that spread out along the edge of the great Tolda Lake like so much moss. The smells of fish and fried food float heavily in the air. 

Dean grins and opens his arms wide, “ _ This  _ is the place.” He says.

Castiel wrinkles his nose at the smell, “What place?”

“The place! The place to be! God, that smells good. Is that catfish? I bet that’s catfish.”

“What?”

“Come on!” Dean says happily, grabbing Castiel by the wrist and tugging him toward a nearby pub, “Let’s get something to eat!”

“It smells bad though.” Castiel protests.

“No, no! Lake food is the  _ best _ . Come on, I won’t give you anything bad, I swear.”

So Castiel lets himself be dragged along into a dimly-lit pub that smells of body-odor and salt, full of people who look like they have more muscles than brains.

“Cas, that’s mean.” Dean tells him, once they’re tucked away at a table toward the back.

“Well, it’s true.” Castiel sniffs.

“It’s your  _ opinion _ . And it’s not very nice.”

“Why do you care if i’m nice?”

“They’re just people. They’re just trying to live their lives.”

“Well they should live them somewhere else.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, when he opens them again he looks at Castiel. “Are you being an ass because I made you come to this pub?”

“I’m not-”

“Yeah, you are.”

Castiel purses his lips, ready to protest. After a few seconds of evaluation, however, he realizes that Dean is, in fact, right. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, slumping back into his seat, “I get… nervous, in new places. And I guess that makes me a little mean sometimes.”

Dean’s eyes soften, and he scoots his chair close enough to Castiel’s that he can reach out and put his arm along the back of the prince’s chair. 

“No reason to be nervous.” Dean says, “You got me.” 

“I suppose I do.”

He’s quick to change his mind, however, when their food comes.

“ _ What  _ is  _ that _ ?” 

“It’s catfish! Cas, come on, you’ll like it. Everybody likes catfish.”

“I doubt  _ everyone _ -”

“How do you know you don’t like it, if you’ve never tried it?”

“You’re awfully confident for someone who keeps  _ interrupting a prince _ .”

Dean just leans toward him and raises an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. Castiel fidgets for one moment, two, before he’s giving in to those beguiling eyes with a huff.

“Fine! But if I don’t like it, it’s prison for you, sir.”

“Obviously.” Dean agrees, “Very fair.”

Castiel picks up a piece delicately, with the very tips of fingers, and holds it as far away from his face as he possibly can.

“You know you have to put it in your mouth-”

“I know how eating works!”

“I’m actually starting to doubt that.”

“If you would be quiet for two seconds, maybe i’d have a chance.”

Dean grins, but keeps his mouth closed long enough for Castiel to try the strip of fried fish. To his frustration, he doesn’t hate it. He chews it slowly and thoroughly, and when he’s done he hums thoughtfully.

“It’s not bad.” He says.

“I  _ told you so _ !” Dean crows, “Let’s try the rest!”

Castiel grimaces at their plates of fish and other, unidentifiable food, “I’m going to need some wine.”

“Lets get you some wine!”

Castiel has not had this much to drink, perhaps ever. The wine has always been available, but there was never anyone to drink with, and that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? At least, it seems that way now. Everything is easier, laughing and talking, he puts his hand on Dean’s arm and doesn’t worry about how it might seem one way or another. Dean is smiling wide enough to split his face, dimples presenting themselves cheerfully into his cheeks, and Castiel finds himself charmed all over again. 

 

“I’m dying.” Castiel announces the next morning, squinting meanly at the sun as they make their way through town.

“You’ll live.” Dean grunts, equally hungover, “At least the beds were alright.”

Castiel sighs, the memory of the pub’s rented rooms still fresh in his mind. He’s only been on the road a few days, and yet he’d missed his own bed desperately. A rented bed was a pale comparison, but something, at least.

“They were amazing!”

“Alright, calm down.”

At the cobbler they buy Castiel a pair of sturdy leather boots, critically inspected and approved by Dean. Next door to that they purchase him two pairs of pants in a sturdier, thicker fabric, and several shirts more suited for wear and tear and travel. 

When they’re done, and he’s changed out of his old clothes and into the new, he looks at his reflection in the large silver mirror hanging above the clothier’s desk, and finds himself filled with an inexplicable sense of accomplishment. He looks the part. He looks ready to hit the road, to take on beasts, to free himself from his curse. 

He grins at his reflection.

Dean says, “Yeah, yeah. You look good. Now stop checking yourself out, we gotta go.


	3. The Dire Bear

Dean says, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The man standing behind him, gripping his shoulder strongly with one hand and pressing a knife to his throat to the other, says, “Just hand over what you have. We don’t want trouble.”

“Little too late for that, isn’t it?” Dean asks, straining with the effort of staying still when he obviously wants to fight. 

“As long as nobody does anything stupid, we’ll all be fine.”

Castiel likes to think of himself as stoic, as brave. Yes, he’s often frightened, he often has doubts, but he prides himself on acting anyway, on doing what needs to be done. Now, though, he’s frozen. There are two robbers, large men with with surprisingly silent footsteps who snuck up on them several miles from town. They both have knives, and easily got the drop on the unsuspecting young men. 

There was a moment, when the thieves had first appeared, when Dean seemed to have the upper hand. Then, as usual, Castiel had become a liability when the second man appeared to grab him as well. 

So they’re both apprehended, and Castiel can’t seem to stop his hands from shaking or his heart from racing. 

“Just give us your money, son.” Says the man holding Dean. 

The man holding Castiel gives his arm a firm squeeze and says, “The bag.”

Castiel’s coin bag is still very heavy, full of all the money that was supposed to get them to their destination and back. Now he hands it over with trembling hands. 

“We’re not monsters.” Says the man, “We don’t want to hurt you. You can keep everything else.”

True to their word, the thieves only take Castiel’s money and Dean’s own small amount. They leave the boys tied loosely to a tree, and while they escape within ten minutes, the bandits are long gone by then. 

Castiel says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should have done something.”

Dean reaches out to take hold of Castiel’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have done anything else. What you did was the right thing.”

“But the money-”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What about food? Lodgings? Emergencies?”

Dean shakes his head, “We’re going to be fine. We have weapons, we still have our packs. We have everything we need. We’re just lucky they left you with your fancy new clothes.”

“I can’t believe- I can’t believe-” Castiel can’t catch his breath, he goes to his knees on the mossy ground and does his best to bring in air, with little luck. 

“Alright,” Says Dean, coming to his knees beside him. His hand is on Castiel’s back, his voice a soothing timbre, “It’s okay. Breathe in, breathe out, there you go. Everything is going to be just fine. You’ve got me, remember?”

Castiel’s breathing is evening out, but tears still well in his throat. His entire body feels heavy, he could lay on the ground just now and fall asleep. His hands continue to tremble, long after he has his breath back, even as Dean moves closer to wrap an arm around his back. 

“We’re going to do fine.” Dean tells him, gently, “This doesn’t change anything.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve spent the majority of my life with no money at all. I know how to handle it.”

Castiel sighs, looking to Dean, to his kind eyes. 

He says, “I’m sorry. Sorry for being so… emotional.”

“It’s just adrenaline.” Dean runs his hand down Castiel’s back and lets it settle at his hip, “And, you know, I like that about you.”

“What?”

“You’re… open. With your emotions, you know? I don’t know many men like that. You don’t keep much hidden. I like that.”

Castiel says, “Oh.” Looking down at the moss under his palms, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. Truth be told, his emotions are something his family has been trying to temper for years, with little luck. He’s never thought of them as a good thing before.

The conversation flows into a calm silence and, once Castiel has stopped trembling, Dean helps him to his feet and they’re on their way. 

“I can’t help but think,” Castiel says, after some time, “what if I were alone? I can’t hunt. I can’t fight.”

Dean looks askance, “You can’t?”

“Why would I?”

“Hmm.” Dean frowns thoughtfully, “Maybe you should learn.”

 

With the memory of a thief's blade pressed to Dean’s throat playing periodically behind his eyes, learning how to defend himself helps to relieve some of Castiel’s worry and frustration, with the additional bonus of maybe being able to lend a hand if they’re ever accosted again.

“So, like this?” Castiel asks, gripping the dagger the way he thinks he should. It’s harder to do while walking, but they have somewhere to be and no time to dally.

“Not quite,” Says Dean, reaching over to adjust his grip, “Like that. And you thrust it like  _ that _ .”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

Castiel practices again and again as they walk, tripping several times over loose stones as his concentration is divided. Dean seems pleased, though whether he’s pleased about how Castiel is doing or, perhaps, the fact that he wanted to learn at all, is a mystery. 

When they stop to eat lunch Dean takes the time to show him several stances, to explain where to stab, what’s most effective, and how to dodge a knife himself. He seems relaxed, even cheerful, as he patiently shows Castiel again and again. 

Dean’s hands on his wrists send shivers up Castiel’s spine, and he can feel their pressure long after Dean has moved on to something else. 

It strikes Castiel as odd, when he thinks of it, that his attraction to Dean was the catalyst that made him run away to break his curse, and here Dean is with him, completely unaware of Castiel’s feelings. What would he do, if he found that a prince felt for him so? Castiel would like to think that he’d be amenable to it, but it’s hard to tell with Dean. He’s very kind, and Castiel isn’t sure if he’s this kind to everyone, if it’s because Castiel is a prince, if it’s perhaps something more, if it’s anything at all. 

All he does know, really, is that having Dean’s hands on his wrists and arms drives him to distraction, makes him feel like he’s going to burst apart. It’s partially the crush, and partially the fact that he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him at all. 

The second half of the day drags on as it gets colder, too cold to have his hands outside of his cape, to cold to have his hood down. Dean starts eyeing the vegetation on the side of the road and, upon spotting a bush covered in berries, he veers off onto the side.

“I wonder if these are edible.”

Castiel comes close as Dean plucks several dark purple berries off of the bush, and reaches over to roll them in Dean’s palm. 

He says, “Yes.”

Dean looks at him, “And you know that for a fact, do you?”

“I know things.” Castiel insists.

“How do you know, bluebird?”

“I have books about edible wild fauna at home, thank you very much. And  _ why  _ would you call me a bluebird?”

Dean grins wide and gives an entirely unconvincing little shrug. “You don’t like it?”

“Well I- I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” 

“ _ Hmm  _ yourself!”

Dean smiles again, dimples dipping into his cheeks. “You do like it.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You can’t hide it, you’re too expressive.”

“Wha- I- you don’t-” Castiel huffs, “Are we eating these berries or not?”

“You eat some first, so I know they’re not poisonous.”

“Excuse me, I think  _ you’re  _ supposed to be doing that for  _ me _ .”

“We’re not at the castle, bluebird.”

“Well, I can still boss you around.” Says Castiel, but he takes a handful of the berries anyway and tosses them into his mouth without a second thought. They’re sweet, bursting with juice as he bites into them, and Dean watches as he chews. 

“They’re safe.” Castiel says, “I swear.”

“Well,” Says Dean, “I guess we know what we’re having for supper.”

In a nice stroke of luck, Dean manages to shoot a hare before they make camp, so that they have fresh meat to go with their berries. The smell of it sizzling over their small fire fills him with a sense of satisfaction that melts away the badness of the day. He sees only Dean’s hands, highlighted by the campfire against the darkness of the night and his trousers where he kneels on the ground. 

They’re beautiful hands, Castiel decides then and there, with big palms and nimble fingers. They’re not like his own hands, soft, fragile, unused to labor. They’re strong and calloused, but when they touch Castiel they’re oh so gentle, and he imagines for a moment what they might feel like on his neck, on his lips, sneaking under his trousers.

He looks away. 

When he looks back again, which he was always bound to do, he finds Dean watching him.

“What?”

Dean starts, as if surprised to be caught. He says, “Nothing. You, uh, you have juice on your… mouth.”

He makes an aborted movement, like he means to reach up and wipe the stain from Castiel’s lips himself, but then thinks better of it and begins to blush madly instead.

They both look away, and continue to look away until the hare is ready to eat. It’s a delicious mess, juicy and succulent, and it gets all over Castiel’s hands. He catches Dean watching him suck the juice from his fingers, and the feeling this sparks in his belly is completely unfamiliar and absolutely terrifying. He wipes the rest of the mess onto the grass. 

 

The Kalavad Forest looks gargantuan even from a distance, and when they’re up close the trees are so tall that Castiel can scarcely see the tops. He leans back so far to look upward that he loses his balance and trips backward into Dean, who catches him with an amused smile. 

It’s enchanting, at first, to be in a forest full of trees so tall that clouds can be seen among their upper limbs. It’s not long, however, before the drawbacks make themselves evident. 

It’s dark, much too dark without the benefit of the sun. None breaks through the mammoth canopy above them, and they’re scarce inside the forest before it’s so dark that Castiel can barely see his feet, let alone the path. 

“Dean,” He says, reaching out blindly into the void around him, panic already starting to lace his voice.

“I’m here.” Says Dean, his fingers closing around Castiel’s elbow.

“I can’t see.” 

“I know. It’s okay.”

Castiel shakes his head, “I can’t see.”

“Hey,” Says Dean, drawing Castiel closer to him until his face is pressed into the warmth of Dean’s shoulder, “breathe, bluebird, it’s going to be alright.”

Castiel breathes. Rosemary, campfire smoke, mint, but he’s still afraid.

“How can we get through if we can’t see?”

“We can do it. We’ll just- we’ll walk slow, okay? Come on, take my hand.”

They part, and Dean takes Castiel by the hand. Dean is an anchor, but Castiel still feels a horrible, unnamable fear at the darkness pressing in around him. He closes his eyes tight, but everything looks the same, and for one horrible moment he can’t remember if his eyes are open or closed. 

Dean says, “Okay, we just- just need to find some moss, and a sturdy stick. A real sturdy stick, okay Cas? Can you help me?”

Castiel takes a deep breath, and another. He nods tightly, but his eyes are still shut tight. He lets himself be led by Dean here and there, while the man looks futilely in the dark. After when seems like hour, but what might be minutes, Dean has all the things he’s looking for. He kneels on the ground, with Castiel following, and slowly makes a torch from his scavenged materials. Lighting it is harder still, as Dean’s flint and steel seem to be lost in the depths of his pack. Once he finds them, lighting the thing is short work, and Castiel can breathe for the first time in what feels like hours. 

The torch doesn’t give off a lot of light, only a small ring around them. The dark still feels like it’s pressing aggressively in on all sides, but at least now they can see. At least Castiel can tell when his eyes are open and when they’re closed. He still hangs on to Dean’s hand, but hears no protests about it. 

Together, they begin to walk. 

The forest is old, and as well as being tall it’s also wide. How many miles across it really is, Castiel has no idea, but it feels endless. They walk and they walk, and there’s no way to tell how long they’ve been going, how far they’ve gone, or even what time it is. Eyes blink out at them from the darkness, forest animals just out of sight, and after some time, Castiel would swear he can hear footfalls behind them.

“I don’t hear anything.” Says Dean. 

Somehow, that makes it worse.

When they finally stop it’s because they’re simply too exhausted, mentally and physically, to go any further. Dean makes a small fire right there on the sorry excuse for a path, and they eat jerky and stale bread in the dim firelight. 

Even before he’s finished with his food, Castiel is antsy again. He bounces his knee, he breaks sticks, he scratches at the ground. He’s so anxious that he barely notices when Dean comes to sit beside him. 

Dean says, “Let me teach you something.”

“What do you want to teach me?” Castiel asks, worrying at the hem of his pants leg. 

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow.”

 

Castiel has never been in this type of situation before. He’s never even been close, in fact. He feels like he might throw up.

It’s not the bow, which Castiel  _ does  _ find unwieldy, it’s Dean and all of the things he’s currently doing that make Castiel feel like he’s about to pass out.

Castiel is holding the bow and, for and intents and purposes, Dean is holding Castiel. He’s pressed right up against Castiel’s back, with one hand on the prince’s hip and the other one low on his stomach. He keeps murmuring things in Castiel’s ear, and his breathe on the delicate skin of Castiel’s neck and ear is sending very exciting signals to some very strange places.

“Okay,” Dean says, unaware that Castiel in on the edge of cardiac arrest, “Now you’re going to pull back the bow. Yep, just like that, very good.”

The shot goes far to the left, missing the intended target by a good few feet and flying off into the dark. When Dean steps off into the dark to find it, Castiel goes quickly back to the fire.

“I don’t think the bow is for me.”

“No?” Dean says, coming back into the ring of firelight.

“No. No, the dagger is fine.”

“You want to work on that a little bit?”

“You know, I actually think I might just go to sleep.” Castiel says quickly, “I’m- i’m very tired.”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, me too. I guess we’d better-”

“Yeah.”

Sleeping so close to Dean has never been so awkward, even as Castiel is on his side facing away from Dean. He can feel every time that Dean shifts, can hear every breath he takes, and somehow Dean’s hand finds its way to his hip again. 

 

The second day in the forest is, somehow, worse. They’re not sure how long they slept, as there was no sun to wake up to. Castiel is feeling even more on edge, and this time he’s  _ sure  _ that he hears footfalls somewhere behind them. At first, Dean continues to disagree, but after a while he begins to frown and look behind them more and more.

He says, “I think you’re right.” In a voice that makes Castiel wish he wasn’t, “I think there’s something following us.”

Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s arm. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. There’s plenty of things in these woods. I’m a little surprised we haven't encountered anything yet, really.”

“Things? What things?”

Dean glances back into the dark behind them, but still there’s nothing there. 

“Dire animals, mostly.”

“Oh my god,  _ oh my god _ .”

Dean says, “We’re gonna be fine.”

“You’re lying!”

“Cas, you gotta calm down. There’s nothing we can do right now, panicking isn't going to help.”

“So you just want me to accept my death?”

“You’re not going to die.”

Castiel scoffs, but before he has time to respond, the air is rent with the sound of a running beast. It barrels out of the woods like a tornado, a massive bear.

On its four legs it’s easily six feet tall, but when it stands up and roars it looks to be ten. 

Castiel screams and so does Dean, and they’re sprinting into the dark before either of them can think, before any words can be said or plans made. Feet pounding on the dark path, Dean’s torch casting light wildly as he struggles to hold it while running. 

Dean shouts something, Castiel can’t make out his words, but then he’s shoving the torch into the prince’s hands and he’s pulling his bow from his back. He manages to knock an arrow before he stops and turns to let it loose in one smooth, well-practiced motion. It hits the mark, sinking deep into the bear’s neck, but it doesn’t deter the beast. 

There is no escape, there is no outrunning the dire bear, or out-climbing, or even hiding. The beast must be fought, and Castiel has the sudden realization that these could be the last moments of his life. This might be it, and then he could be gone. 

Dean loses two more arrows into the bear, and still it moves forward, closer still until Castiel can see the foam at its mouth and the grey of its eyes. 

Castiel holds the torch in one hand, the dagger in the other, and he feels absolutely helpless. What could he possibly do with a knife he doesn’t know how to use?

Dean is knocking another arrow when the beast catches up to him, swiping at him with one huge paw and sending him flying off into the dark. The bear ignores Castiel, lumbering instead toward where Dean must lay outside the circle of light.

There’s a moment when something, some treachering thing inside Castiel tells him to run. To just go, he could make it. To run until he’s out of this horrible forest, come what may. 

But there’s blood on the path where Dean had been, blood on the claws of the beast stalking toward his friend. There’s nothing but fear, but hopelessness, and then the bear lowers his head.

There’s no time for thinking, for second-guessing. There’s only Castiel, letting the torch fall to the forest floor as the strides toward the beast. He grips his knife with both hands and lets himself be overcome with anger and fear, all of his strength and pain go behind the knife as he drives it, quite suddenly, through the creature’s skull and into its brain.

The bear spasms once, and falls to the ground with a sickening thump. The knife stays in the bear’s skull, because there’s blood all over Castiel’s shaking hands and he doesn’t see Dean anywhere. Behind him, the torch on the ground sputters, and quietly dies.

“Dean?” Castiel says into the dark, then louder, “Dean!”

No answer comes from the dark, from the heavy blackness trying to crush him once again. So, finally, he slumps to the ground. His body aches with exhaustion and fear and sorrow, shaking hands and heart and body, clouded mind. He feels the tears coming and he lets them fall. No one can see them in the darkness anyway, if, in fact, there’s anyone at all to see.

He’s on verge of just laying down on the ground, exhausted by the fight The thought of wandering around in the dark alone and crying about Dean is too much. He hears something. It’s almost nothing, a small groan, but he clings to it like a life preserver.

“Dean?” He says into the darkness.

“I’m here.” Comes a weak voice, “I’m- i’m here. Cas?”

“Dean! Where are you?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I can’t see anything.”

Castiel says, “Keep talking, i’ll find you.”

Energy bolstered for the moment, he crawls slowly toward the sound of Dean’s voice. When he finally makes contact with Dean’s leg, his heart leaps with relief. 

“I thought you were dead.” He says, hands touching Dean’s hips, his abdomen, his shoulders. He wants to touch everything he can, regardless of whether or not it’s proper. His friend is alive, and in this moment he’s so grateful that he’d do anything for Dean, anything at all.

“I’m okay. I’m okay, Cas.” Dean’s hand meets Castiel’s on the side of his face, “Well, not completely.”

“You’re hurt.” Castiel remembers, the blood on the ground.

“My side.”

Castiel feels gingerly down Dean’s side until he comes to the part of his shirt that’s shredded and damp with blood. It feels like a lot, but he can’t see. 

“We have to get out of here.” He says. 

“I’m… not sure I can.” Says Dean. “I feel… I don’t think I can stand just now, bluebird. You might… might be better off just goin’ on.”

“No.” Castiel tells him firmly, “We’re going to get you out of here, and I’m going to fix you up, and everything is going to be fine.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“That’s because i’m sure about it.”

Of course, it’s easier said than done, but there’s no way he’s leaving Dean here and he’s not going to sit by and let him bleed out either. He’s going to try, and if he fails, at least he’ll know he’s done everything he can. 

“Do you think you could stand up for just a minute?”

“Maybe.” Says Dean, “I’m not sure.”

“Alright. I have an idea.”

It might not be a great idea. In fact, Castiel is pretty sure it’s kind of a bad one, but it’s the only thing he can think of and there’s no one else around, so he’s doing it. First he wraps a spare shirt around Dean’s abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. He finds Dean’s dropped pack and helps his friend put it back on, then, slowly, he helps Dean to stand and get onto his back. 

Dean is not light. Dean is tall and strong, and he feels like he weighs a ton. Castiel is tired, he’s still shaking, and Dean’s blood is soaking through both of their shirts. Nevertheless, he’s fueled by determination and the idea that a beautiful man who may be his best friend might die if he doesn’t get them somewhere, and that will have to be enough. 

After much struggle, the torch is lit again, and Castiel begins to stumble through the forest with Dean on his back. 

 

By some stroke of luck, they’re closer to the edge of the forest than Castiel had even hoped. An hour of walking and he begins to see light. When he staggers out of the forest, covered in blood and carrying his friend, he almost cries with relief to find a town within eyesight. He makes it about halfway from the forest to the town before his vision begins to swim and, slowly, darken.

 

There’s a sharp antiseptic tang in the air. Castiel is not Castiel, but only a thought growing into a body that aches more than it ever has in his life. As he slowly fills his limbs, he finds his arms sore, bruised, and cramping. His legs are much the same, with an even more notable burning in his calves. He tries to blink, and finds that the light is painful as well. 

“Oh,” Says a voice very close by, “Are you awake, dear?”

Castiel tries to blink again, with little success. He says, “Yes.”

“Don’t try to move, you’re severely fatigued. Here, i’ll get rid of the lamp.”

There’s a shuffling, a closing and opening of a door, and the next time Castiel tries to open his eyes he finds that he can.

The room is dim now, but the light filtering in through the windows is enough to see by. It’s a small room, but clean. Shelves laden with bottles and bandages line the walls. He’s in a bed, not soft by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s softer than the ground and he’ll take whatever he can get. There’s a woman standing by the side of his bed, dark hair wrapped up in a bun, a friendly smile.

Castiel says, “Dean?”

“Your friend is fine.” The woman says, “He’s lost a lot of blood, but we patched him up and he’s mending. He’s asleep just now.”

Castiel follows her gaze across the room to another bed, where Dean lays. He looks better, at least, then he did, sleeping peacefully under white sheets. Castiel breathes again, unaware that he’d stopped in the first place.

“Thank you.” He says, “Thank you for helping us.”

“That’s my job.” She smiles.

“I- I can’t pay you. I don’t have any money-”

The woman waves off his concerns, “I’m a doctor,” She says, “Not a merchant. If I see someone who needs help, I help.”

“Well I thank you, Doctor…”

“Braeden.”

“Thank you, Dr. Braeden.” 

Dr. Braeden reaches out to pat his arm, “Get some rest.” She says.

She leaves, and he tries closing his eyes again, but sleep escapes him. He’s not used to sleeping on a bed or, he realizes suddenly, alone. Slowly, as his legs somehow feel both full of glass and as though they’re made of jelly, he slips out of his own bed, across the room, and into Dean’s. It’s easy enough, the bed is more spacious than the sleeping bag they’ve been sharing this whole time. He slips under the blanket and tucks himself into Dean’s warmth, doing his best not to think about the way he’s become accustomed to it. The tattered shirt is gone, and Dean’s torso is bare but for the large white bandage covering his side. His bare stomach is muscled, but it looks soft as well, and Castiel almost reaches out to touch it, before thinking better of it. The touch of Dean’s skin on his own draws him in though, coaxing him like a siren until he gives in and slips his hand into Dean’s. Unsurprisingly, he falls quickly to sleep.

 

When he wakes again, Dean is awake. He knows this before he opens his eyes, before he remembers where he is or why, he knows that Dean is there. His face is pressed to a warm shoulder that smells of rosemary and mint. A gentle hand cards through his hair. When he opens his eyes, Castiel finds Dean curled toward him, watching. 

Dean says, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You saved my life.”

Castiel almost protests, but it’s true, isn’t it? He says, “Of course.”

“You killed that bear. You killed it all on your own.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You shot it. It was already wounded.”

“You finished it off, though. I’m impressed.”

“We make a good team.”

Dean says, “Yeah, I guess we do.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair from Castiel’s face, and lets his hand trail down to cup Castiel’s cheek. There’s a warmth spreading through Castiel’s body, a tender yearning, a peaceful sort of hope that starts in his chest and works its way outward. 

Dean leans forward, and Castiel remembers.

“No!” Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s chest and shoves him back, almost toppling them both out of the bed.

Dean’s eyes are wide with shock, then hurt. He blinks and takes one short, sharp breath. “I… am so sorry. I- I thought-”

“Oh, Dean,”

“Uh,” Dean scrubs a hand over his face, wincing as he jostles his wound. His face is going red shockingly fast. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate- I shouldn’t have-”

“Dean-”

“I’ve let my emotions get the best of me. Again- i’m sorry. This won’t- won’t affect things, I promise.”

He’s staring down at his hands, face the color of a ripe tomato. Castiel has never felt so sorry for someone and so fond at the same time.

“Dean,” Castiel reaches out to touch the inside of his arm, “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed that you…” He trails off. 

Castiel takes a deep breath, “I do. I do like you.”

Finally, Dean looks at him. He’s frowning. “What?”

“I really, really like you. I’ve grown very, um, attached to you. I’ve wished to kiss you for… some time.”

Dean says, “Oh,” and his shoulders relax.

“But it can’t happen.”

“Oh.” Dean says again, “I think i’m more confused than I was before.”

“My curse.”

“You never told me-”

“I can’t be kissed.” Castiel tells him, finally, “And I can’t kiss anyone else. If I do, we both die.”

“Shit.” Says Dean.

“Hmm.”

Dean leans back, “This is why you weren’t allowed out of the castle?”

Castiel nods.

“That’s a dumb reason.” Dean says.

“It’s warranted.”

They both grow quiet, and lay back next to each other, their arms pressed together. Castiel turns his head to lean against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean says, “Does this mean… you would be with me?”

“I would.”

“That’s a much greater honor than I deserve. I thought- maybe one kiss.”

“Is that all you want?”

Dean is quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “I want… whatever you’ll give me.”

Castiel buries his face further into Dean’s shoulder, and for a time, things are quiet. 

 

Outside of town, it’s quiet. The sun is setting slowly, casting orange and purple over the horizon. A breeze from the north blows over the hills, over the long green grass, over two boys sitting side-by-side in the quiet. 

Castiel looks over at Dean and finds his eyes fixed on the horizon, the gold of the sky reflected on his hair and the lines of his face. He looks regal.

“How much longer do you think we should stay?” Castiel asks, eyes going to the hem of Dean’s cloak, under which his wound is healing nicely. 

“I think I might be ready tomorrow.”

“Already?”

Dean says, “I feel good. Better than usual, even. Doc has been having me take potions.”

“What kinds?”

Dean shrugs, “Supposed to be good for you, I guess.”

“Do you just eat whatever anyone gives you?”

Dean smiles and knocks Castiel’s arm with his elbow. “You know I do.”

“This… has been nice, though.” Castiel muses, “Food, water, baths. Nobody knows who we are, and yet we’re still treated well. I don’t think i’ve ever had this much time to relax in my whole life.”

“I…” Dean starts, then looks away, “I’ve enjoyed spending so much time with you. You’re the closest friend i’ve had in a very long time.”

Castiel reaches over and slips his hand into Dean’s. It’s hard to express everything he feels, the gratitude, the fondness, the longing, but he thinks perhaps that this does it best. 

Hand in hand, they watch the sun set. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I miss a day, don't worry. I might have to re-write a bit of the last chapter, so it might take a little longer.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. The Cottage At The Cliff's Edge

Ire is a seaside town, with one side facing inland and the other to the ocean. The entire place is windswept and salt-stained from its rooftops to its townspeople. 

Castiel and Dean stand on the road just outside the town, gazing inward at its idyllic simplicity with distrust. 

Dean says, “We don’t even know what her name is. How are we going to find her?”

“I’m sure we’ll know her when we see her.” Castiel insists. 

“Are we supposed to go and knock at every house?”

“She’ll be the evil one, obviously!”

“Cas-”

“I’ll figure it out! We’ve come this far, this is the end!”

“I know,” Says Dean, reaching over to squeeze Castiel’s hand for a moment, “We’ll figure it out.”

The dusty road seems symbolic, and Castiel’s heart is in his throat as they enter the town. His energy is high, his pulse rapid. This is the end.  _ This is the end _ . 

He barely sees faces as they pass the townsfolk, barely sees buildings or landmarks, too focused on finding that evil presence that has plagued him his entire life. Thankfully, Dean is in charge of his senses, and he guides them through the town to the local pub, where they make little headway. No one seems willing to help them, although it’s obvious that they have something to say. Questions about a town witch are met with silence and impassive faces. 

Castiel slumps onto the edge of the well that sits in the middle of town. 

“What do we do now?”

Dean sits down beside him, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“You wait.” Says a voice. 

A woman is standing in front of the well, where there was no one before. A tall woman with a harsh face in a plain brown dress. 

She says, “I heard you were looking for me.”

 

At the edge of town there’s a cliff that juts out over the ocean, over the waves crashing against the rocks, over gull’s nests and the cold sand. At the top of the cliff is one small cottage, in good shape although it’s laden with flowers and vines and moss. Shuttered windows look out onto a quaint garden. 

It’s not the kind of house that Castiel imagined a witch living in, in fact, it’s the kind of house he always imagined wanting. The inside is a jumble of rocks and books and flowers in pots. 

The witch sits down at a table by the window and gestures for the boys to do the same. 

She says, “What’s the issue?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. He’s finally face to face with the person who has ruined his life. 

He says, “I’m cursed.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to remove it.”

The witch just looks at him. “No one can do that but the one who cursed you.”

“You did!” Castiel insists, “You cursed me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“But you did! I- I’m prince Castiel. My father is king of the Idleveld, you cursed me when I was born.”

The witch looks at him harder, blinks, and then tips her head back to let out a peel of laughter. “No! I don’t curse. I’ve never cursed a soul in my life. But I do remember.”

“You- what?” Castiel shakes his head, scratching roughly at his scalp in frustration. 

The witch looks at him for a long moment, she purses her lips. “I used to live in the castle, did you know? I was a maid.”

“No,” Says Castiel, looking at her in a slightly different light, “I didn’t.”

“I knew your father. In fact, you could say I knew him… very well.”

Dean says, “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Says the witch, “I was in love with him. He… was not in love with me. But he wasn’t above taking advantage of my love many, many times.”

Castiel says, “When-”

“Just before you were born.”

There’s a large part of Castiel that rejects the idea entirely, the idea that his father might cheat on his pregnant mother, not caring how it might affect her or their many children. On the other hand, it feels like something he’s always known. It feels like a truth, it fits into the puzzle of his life like a piece that he hadn’t even known was missing. There are things, thinking back, that this might explain. Hazy memories that this new knowledge throws into sharp relief. His parents’ growing distance, his mother’s deepening depression. 

“How could he do that?”

“Because he’s scum.” She says nonchalantly.

“What happened?”

“When you were born, he sent me away.” She narrows her eyes at him, but there’s no heat behind it. The wounds behind the story are long healed. “I was… heartbroken. I was young, and brash, and I said a lot of things in my anger. I did tell them that I had cursed you, but it was a lie.”

Castiel sits back. He takes a breath, and another, but it doesn’t seem to help. Nothing is right and everything is a lie. His whole life, everything he thought he knew, is a lie. 

“I- I wasted seventeen years.” He says.

The witch says nothing. She looks at him, her face impassive. 

“I can’t- I can’t-” He can’t breathe. He braces his hands on his knees and tries to calm down, to no avail. 

Dean says, “Breathe.” And puts a hand on Castiel’s back.

“I’m  _ trying _ !”

Dean’s other hand is on his back, one on each shoulder. He says, “You’re gonna have to calm down.”

“I can’t.” Castiel gasps, “They- they kept me locked up in that  _ fucking castle  _ for  _ seventeen years  _ for nothing. I didn’t- I couldn’t get close to anyone- I didn’t even have friends. I came all this way for  _ nothing _ .”

Neither the witch nor Dean says anything at all. They’re both quiet, and eventually the witch gets up and goes across the room. She brings back a cup of tea that she slips into his unresponsive hands. 

“I’m not your enemy.” She says, and nothing more. 

Castiel is not ashamed to admit that he cries. He’s cried in front of Dean before, and he doesn’t care what this woman thinks of him. Everything is too much, and he has no idea what to do, what to feel. He’s spent most of his life defined by a curse that, turns out, he doesn’t even have.

This trip, this  _ quest _ , was supposed to be a turning point. It was supposed to- to change him, to make him something more, to set him free. Who is he now, then? What is he supposed to do?

The bottom of his heart has been ripped away, and here he is sitting at someone else’s kitchen table crying. 

“We have to go.” He says, overcome by the need to be anywhere but here, “We have to get out of here.”

Dean says, “Are you okay to walk?”

“I have to get out of here, Dean.”

Castiel is not okay to walk, his head is still spinning, but he stumbles to the door and out of the cottage. Its quaint exterior is a slap in the face, the beautiful seaside only serves to make him more morose. 

“This was supposed to change things.” He says to the wind, “It was supposed to change  _ me _ .”

The wind doesn’t answer, but Dean does, catching him before he trips and tumbles down the hill. “Why do you want to change so badly?”

“Because I was… stagnant. I was nothing.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I let everyone else determine everything for me. I’m just an amalgamation of other people’s fears and wants. I never decided anything for myself.”

“You decided to leave.” Says Dean, grasping his elbow firmly and pulling him to a stop. “Castiel, listen to me.”

“No!”

“Yes. Stop being a brat for one minute and listen to me.”

“ _ Excuse  _ me, I am  _ not _ -”

“You’re right,” Dean corrects himself, “You’re not. But you were.”

Castiel gapes at him, thrown by this sudden shift in the conversation. “Are you just going to berate me?”

Dean grasps Castiel’s other elbow and pulls him closer. The wind whips his hair, and the sun makes his eyes shine. “Do you remember the evening you left? You were dining alone. You asked me to taste your food.”

Castiel says, “Yes.” He doesn’t say,  _ of course,  _ or  _ you were beautiful _ .

“I hadn’t had many interactions with you before. But I knew that you were very lovely, and very lonely. I also knew that you were selfish, and then soon after that I learned that you were mule-headed and bratty as well.”

“Excuse you!”

“You’re not anymore. You’ve changed. Curse or not, you’re not the same person you were when you left the castle. You killed a  _ dire bear _ . Do you think you could have done that before?”

Castiel says, “No.” Soft as a thought. 

“You wanted to change, and you did. You just needed- needed to get out from those same four walls and see what the world had to offer. You- you’re amazing.”

Castiel blinks at him, and again. “I- I don’t know… what to say.”

“Say i’m right.”

“You’re right.” Castiel agrees, “I have changed.”

And it’s true, more than he’d realized, more than he’d been ready to admit. He  _ has  _ changed, body and soul. He’s a much, much different person than he was. 

“And that’s what you set out to do, isn’t it?”

“I… I suppose.”

“It wasn’t for nothing, bluebird. I don’t believe for a moment that anything you’ve ever done has been for nothing.”

“Stop it.”

“No. I won’t. I want you to know how I see you. I want you to know that- that you’re one of the bravest, most exciting people i’ve ever met and I’ve enjoyed every moment of traveling with you.”

“Oh.”

“I want nothing more than to kiss you until you wish me dead. And if it’s alright, i’m going to do it now.”

“Yes, alright.” 

Dean cups Castiel’s face in both hands and he kisses him. Much as the sun and the moon throw the world into a sudden darkness when the meet, that great once in a while, so this kiss dims all the world but the two of them. Years of longing and of heartache and loneliness course through Castiel, leaving his body through his feet and into the earth. 

It’s only a sweet press of lips, the sensation of hands on his face and the wind in his hair, but it fills him so full of light and joy that he might burst and take the countryside with him. 

His heart pounds and his breath escapes him, but it’s not from fear, and he smiles into the kiss until his face aches.

At the top of the hill, from inside the quaint cottage, the witch peers out through the small kitchen window and sees the two young men caught in an embrace on the hill. 

She says, “Hmm.”

 

The small town at the edge of the great forest is happy to have them again, and it’s easy enough for them to bargain with Dr. Braeden. Castiel and Dean spend the rest of the day foraging for medicinal plants, and in exchange she gives them enough money to take a boat across the Caraway Lake, bypassing the forest completely. 

“I couldn’t have gone through it again.” Castiel admits as they sit aboard the small boat, rocked by waves and large sea creatures. 

“I wouldn’t have asked it of you.” Says Dean.

The trip is much shorter by boat, and easier as well. No dire beasts wait for them between the trees, although Castiel has seen a few worryingly big shadows beneath the surface of the water.

“Dont’chu worry about those.” The captain tells him, “Just the fish. Harmless as flies.”

Whether or not this is true, the captain’s prediction holds and nothing molests them on their way across the lake. When the get to the other side, Castiel takes some time to stand at the edge of the lake and look out across the water, continuously grateful that it wasn’t the damned forest. 

“I feel like there should be more.” Castiel admits as they hike once again across the landscape. 

“More?”

“I keep expecting more things to happen, though everything so far has been bad.”

Dean looks at him. “Everything so far has been an adventure.” He corrects. 

“We’ve nearly died several times.”

“And yet here we are, changed by our scrapes, and with interesting stories to tell.”

“You are  _ unbelievably  _ optimistic today.”

“Well. I’ve enjoyed it.”

“What?”

“This trip.”

“Dean, you got mauled by a bear.”

Dean shrugs, “What’s a little mauling in the grand scheme of things?”

Castiel jabs him in the ribs.

“I’m going to leave you stranded here.” Says Dean.

“Just you try!” Says Castiel.

 

Castiel is no longer afraid of camping in the dark. He’s not afraid of the bugs or the wild animals. He’s not made uncomfortable by sharing a very small sleeping bag with Dean. 

Now the dim firelight seems peaceful to him, the the meat sizzling over the campfire smells mouth-watering. He and Dean sing lulibies to the trees and sleep with hands clasped together, happy in the simplicity of living off of the land. 

Ichborough, the lakeside town, comes agian almost too soon. Castiel ignores the way his heart sinks slightly at the thought of their rapid return home. 

Dean trades animal skins to the innkeeper in exchange for a room, and for the first time in many nights, they sleep indoors. Although, it’s not quite as simple as that.

There’s a large metal washtub in the room, and Castiel is desperatley aware of the dirt and grime that covers his skin, of the smell of him after so many nights unwashed. 

But there’s no screen to hide behind, nothing to protect his modesty. There’s a small part of him, deep inside, that thrills at the thought. It says,  _ let Dean watch _ , the nasty, traitorous thing.

But… he does want a bath. What’s the harm in it, really? 

Water is brought up, and Dean watches.

The tub is filled, and Dean watches. 

Castiel strips off his dirty clothes and drops them on the floor, and Dean pretends to read a book. 

Whatever ulterior motives he may or may not have, Castiel practically melts when he sinks into the bath. The water is almost scalding, and it eases the ache of the road from Castiel’s muscles. 

He says, “Oh,” And leans his head back against the edge.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Says Dean, “You’ll drown.”

“Hmm. I know you’ll save me.”

He lets his head fall to the side and looks at Dean, who looks at him.

Castiel says, “How’s your book?”

Dean looks down at it, and then back up. He says, “I don’t know.”

“Will you bring me the soap?”

Dean looks down at his book again, but discards it quickly in favor of bringing Castiel the little-used soap from his pack. When he hands it over, Castiel is incredibly aware that Dean can see all of him, and he doesn’t cover himself. Their fingers brush and Castiel’s veins thrum with electricity. 

Dean’s eyes flicker to his body, then quickly away. He clears his throat. “I could, ah, wash your back. If you want?”

Castiel says, “Okay.”

The ease at which Dean falls to his knees sends a jolt of arousal through Castiel, and he finds himself thickening with desire as he sits up. Dean’s hands on his back light him on fire, and he closes his eyes for a moment to savor it. When he opens them again and looks back, Dean is flushed red.

“You’re getting your sleeves all wet.”

“Ah, I guess I am.”

“You could…”

“What?”

Castiel swallows, nerves and want warring with each other inside him. “You could get in.”

Dean is very still, and very quiet. “I… that would be… very forward of me.”

Castiel says, “Yes.”

Dean says, “Alright.”

 

The sight of his home should fill Castiel with joy. He should want to be home. He should want to see his family. Instead, he feels sick to his stomach. Anxiety swirls in his stomach, and his hand is clammy where it holds tight to Dean’s.

Dean says, “Are you ready?”

Castiel says, “No.”

 

Castiel’s mother cries when he comes home, as do some of his siblings. Michael embraces him, and tells him that they’ve had search parties out looking for him for weeks. 

He says, “We thought you’d been kidnapped.”

Castiel says, “I left to change my fate.”

Unsurprisingly, their father is angry. He thunders on and on about duty and responsibility, but it doesn’t bother Castiel so much as it used to. He understands that the man is angry, but he just doesn’t seem the threat that he used to. When one has slain a dire bear, it’s a little harder to be afraid of the small things. 

Dean is still nearby, standing by the door to the king’s study and looking unsure about what to do. His clothes are still dusty from the road, and Castiel remembers the feeling of Dean’s hands on him in the bath, and afterward. It feels Big. Bigger than this room, bigger than his father shouting at him. 

When the king finally does finish yelling, Castiel looks him in the eye and tells him the whole tale of their journey. When he comes to the part where they find the witch, his father goes very still, and when he tells the king about the non-curse the man goes very red. 

He doesn’t say that he knows about the cheating, because he can tell by the way the king won’t meet his eyes that he knows Castiel knows. 

Everything is very ill-defined. All of the relationships he had before he left feel awkward now, different. He left one way and came back another, and it feels like maybe he doesn’t fit here anymore. 

He doesn’t say goodbye to his father. He can’t think of a single thing more to say to the man. 

In the corridor, his mother is waiting to embrace him again. 

“You’re so tan, my dove.” She says, “You’ve grown.”

Castiel smiles. “I have. Have you met Dean?” He gestures for Dean to come closer.

“Oh, the guard?”

“Yes. We are, ah,” He takes a breath, “courting, after a fashion.”

Her eyebrows go up, and her smile becomes fixed. “Oh, dear. That’s, well. Dean, was it?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Let us have a moment.”

Dean gives a low bow, but sends a worried glance behind him as he leaves. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Castiel’s mother rounds on him. 

She says, “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“I won’t have you consorting with a  _ guard _ , Castiel. For heaven’s sake!”

“Mother-”

“Now that we know the curse was a sham, we could marry you to a nice duke, hm? Maybe an earl?”

Castiel blinks at her, “I… I don’t understand.”

“You’ve always known your duties, Castiel.” She says, as if everything is obvious.

“I just got home.”

“And we’re so glad you’re back, darling, you know we are! We were frightened to death when you were gone. But you won't go tarnishing the royal name by consorting with foot soldiers. You wouldn’t do that, now would you?”

She clasps her hands in front of her, smiling beatifically, and Castiel realizes quite suddenly that she thinks this is a reasonable request. She thinks that asking him to give up love, just as he has earned his freedom is a simple thing. 

It’s only one thing, a few words, but it hits Castiel with the force of an axe. He can’t stay here. He doesn’t  _ belong  _ here, and maybe he never did. This is not for him. He didn’t run away to change his fate only to return and have it decided for him. 

“Of course not, Mother.” He says. 

His room seems musty after so much time gone, cold and un-lived in. It seems claustrophobic after so many nights in the open air and, at the same time, much too empty without Dean. He flops down onto his bed without bothering to take off his shoes. The bed is much too big, and cold without another body in it. After years of sleeping alone, he’s already gotten used to sharing a bed after a few short weeks. 

He’s only just beginning to wonder where Dean has got to when a knock comes from his window. Much to his surprise, he finds Dean on the other side.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I went around the outside of the castle.” Dean says, climbing into the room, “I figured your mother- Her Majesty, was going to tell you we couldn’t see each other anymore. She did, didn’t she?”

Castiel sighs, “Yeah.”

Dean looks at him. “Do you… want to be here?”

Castiel says, “No. I don’t.”

“You want to get out of here, bluebird?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean smiles wide, “Okay, good, because I have this idea where he sneak out through the back garden, climb the wall, and repel down the outside.”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> catch me at my shipping blog, [deanlightful](https://deanlightful.tumblr.com/)  
> or at my writing blog, [writerlydays](https://writerlydays.tumblr.com/)


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